There Are Lots Of Things

Anxiety Is The Beginning Of Conscience, Which Is The Parent Of The Soul But Is Not Compatible With Innocence.

They Will Be Like Shadows, They Will Be Like Wraiths, Gray Members Of A Congregation Of Nightmare; Hark! His Long Wavering Howl . . . An Aria Of Fear Made Audible. The Wolfsong Is The Sound Of The Rending You Will Suffer, In Itself A Murdering.

Proposition One: Time Is A Man, Space Is A Woman.

A Young Girl Would Go Into The Wood As Trustingly As Red Riding Hood To Her Granny's House But This Light Admits No Ambiguities And, Here, She Will Be Trapped In Her Own Illusion Because Everything In The Woods Is Exactly As It Seems.

Sad; So Sad, Those Smoky-rose, Smoky-mauve Evenings Of Late Autumn, Sad Enough To Pierce The Heart.